


Love Accidents

by BatRat



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatRat/pseuds/BatRat
Summary: The white feathered prince and the brutish king: love has no right way to show its unique matches.
Relationships: Reyson/Tibarn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Love Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to play PoR again after a decade, I'm emotional, nostalgic and inspired to write shameless fluff of one of my favorite ships. When I was younger, my English wasn't exactly good (still isn't hehe, but now it's bearable) and I thought they were an official couple, so I have to admit I could never think otherwise, haha. By the way, it's been ages since I last wrote in English, so please if you find any gramatical/orthographic mistakes, you can call me out in the comments. Have a good read!

The first time they shared a bed, it was for sure an accident.

Reyson had been feeling sickly since the massacre of his folks, his peaceful and uneventful life taken away in front of his very eyes by the blazes of evil. Before, the heron prince never truly believed in such a thing: as a creature of balance, his worldview was ruled by the innocent belief that pure wickedness couldn’t exist — just as Nature itself sought equilibrium through order and chaos, a single life was made of nuances of black and white, good and bad. Nevertheless, in a single night, the cruel and senseless death of his people challenged his tenets, and for the first time he was able to see the crude truth: humans were evil.

That was a terrible finding for his aggrieved heron soul, although not because he felt any sympathy for beorcs: none of them was worthy of such a noble sentiment. The greatest dilemma was that rage poisoned him inside out, resentment put his body under constant stress; he wasn't supposed to feel like that, his body wasn't made to carry such grievances. He so easily healed any physical wound carried from the fateful day, but his heart was sick, sore, baneful. And as the days passed, the prince more often than not was beaten by inexplicable fevers, painful heartaches and debilitating migraines; as to prove injuries weren't only the ones the healers could see. The prey birds swore to protect him from further misfortune, but no one could penetrate his body and put an end to the war that consumed him, and Tibarn was the one who felt the most guilt among them all.

For the mighty king of the Phoenicis the knowledge that, no matter how strong he was, not even him could change the convictions of a man was dreadful at best — maddening at worst. He watched powerless as day by day his protégé craved revenge, like a man consumed by despair. It was a hard sight seeing that the time spent together seeded a strange fondness on Tibarn's heart, greater than he ever felt towards any other person. Reyson had always been handsome in his eyes, always fetching, a man who made the whole world stop and stare in awe; but under all the superficial beauty and the recent trauma and rage, he was also caring, alluringly cunning and strenuous on his goals. No matter how discreet he tried to be, the king proudly watched his efforts in merging into the hawk society, and every milestone was as delightful to him as they were to the heron himself. Each day turned his always present admiration into… Something else.

Reyson was endearing, and Tibarn couldn't help himself but lovingly stare, worried but also fascinated by his tough nature. The fever was high, but the man's pride was even higher, and he tried to pretend he was fine the moment the hawk king stepped inside his quarters by sitting straight on his futon and nodding at his guardian to silently allow him to get closer. The hawk carried a bowl of raw fish on his hands and had a large bandage crossing his strong chest from side to side. Both were fighting on their own battlefields.

"Tibarn, you look tattered." His words weren't nice, but the heron had a worried smile on his face and the king looked as concerned and amused — both espetacular in hiding how delighted they felt in knowing they shared their feelings. Tibarn placed the food bowl on the side of Reyson's mattress and crouched near it, close enough to look him in the eyes under the dim lantern light but enough afar to show respect.

"You don't look any better, Reyson. How's your head?" _I missed you while away_ would be a more honest greeting, but truth be told, he wasn't that bold yet. The heron prince couldn't read formal and complete thoughts, but he as every heron could read the feelings attached to them. Tibarn was trying his best not to expose how worried, attached and… Passionate his thoughts could be.

"Better than your chest. How did this happen?" 

"Archers.” A glimpse of disdain trespassed Tibarn's stoic demeanor. “Cowards as ever, you can't expect much else from these weak humans! Janaff couldn't hold his transformation and I was hit."

Both royals shuddered in revulsion. The act of using a weapon was already seen as weakness by the laguz, no matter what tribe, but doing so in a distant range was the lowest showcase of feebleness of character. Tibarn realised that the heron as usual wasn’t reaching for his food, another reason to feel worried about his ward condition; Reyon was getting too thin by every sickness episode. 

"Eat." He picked the bowl up, laying it carefully on Reyson's legs, the soft duvet keeping it still. As expected, the prince looked uninterested.

"I feel no hunger, thank you." Though the prince's expression was of slight queasiness, he respectfully held the bowl, taking a small piece of raw fish in between his delicate fingers. He ate it tasteless. "Forgive my abhorrent attitude, you do so much for me, Tibarn. But tell me, what Janaff's transformation has to do with your wounds?"

Waving as a dismissal to the unnecessary apology, the king finally sat, legs crossed, as he knew he was going to stay longer than expected by Reyson's side for this evening. A sick man should eat and unless someone kept him under watch, the prince wasn’t doing it anytime soon. "For the sake of the Goddesses, your lack of appetite worries me, Reyson. Eat at your own pace, I have all night to assure you are taking care of your health." Both men smiled, though for a swift moment their eyes diverted from each other's. Tibarn's heart rushed, aware that the prince picked up the affectionate worry on his words. If only he knew that no words were needed for the heron to feel the mind of a man, especially of one he cherished so deeply.

"Tell me about the fight." Reyson eyes looked so placid when listening to Tibarn's stories, albeit the hatred lingered under the passing lull he felt by the king’s side, his warm voice like a lullaby to a wounded soul. He had not a single grasp of the horrors this voice was about to tell him.

"Nothing notable happened. As ordinary, dealing with merchant ships from that damned empire of squealers isn’t a hard task. They carry few men capable of fighting, and even fewer with talent for battle. I caught the second in charge, chief mate as they call, trying to flee in a small boat after all their guards were down and dying, or so we thought. Ulki was searching for their captain and Janaff for items of value, that is until he looked too far into the ship deck and caught a glimpse of its insides from a small crack." The king's tone grew darker, his inflection too hateful, and Reyson found himself tilting over as the story progressed. "A cat kid, declawed and locked up like a feral animal... These filthy dastards call themselves peaceful merchants, but hide laguz children under their ships floorboards. Cowards." By his side, the prince shivered and for a moment Tibarn felt regret for nourishing his sickening rage. It was easy to forget how harmful this feeling could be to a heron when he himself was filled to his core of hatred towards beorcs.

"Janaff was too mad to think, and lost control of his form without noticing. I had to push him, otherwise he would take an arrow to his heart by a hiding coward who none of was noticed, so small and weak he was. Blast!, mindless idiot this friend of mine." They laughed, smiling through the hate. "Janaff is an admirable fighter and a good man, but too frail to allow himself to act so stupidly. Even his eyes can lose a thing or two in the midst of beorc’s mess."

The tale seemed to be over, but not for Reyson, who was afraid of the answer to the question that tried to escape him. After a deep inhale and another bite of fish (still tasteless, but this time he was too distracted to mind), he finally took courage:

"But tell me, how's the kid?" Tibarn bit his lip for deep inside he wanted to cry a declaration of a war his tribe couldn’t win.

"The kids are being treated at shore. Most are too weak to be taken to Gallia, but we already sent a messenger to their nearest port. Some probably won't make it through the night, especially the girls, they…"

They fell silent.

Tibarn couldn't force himself into speaking any longer. It wasn't like he hadn't seen the depravity of beorcs before, or if this time was any worse than everything he experienced through his years as a warrior and as a monarch. But every new skirmish against a slaveship felt exactly like the first time he dealt with such matters: traumatic. Tibarn was a king, the mightier fighter of all bird tribes, yet he was a man still. He could be sturdy and brave, and by no means he had the same empathic powers of herons, but in its place had a soulful conscience, his mind too passionate to ignore the pain on a child's face, no matter the tribe. And also too passionate to realize that while he was deep into his own sorrow and disdain, Reyson was shivering like a mad man by his side.

"How many?" The prince shrieked like a dying egret, his delicate hands suddenly holding the king's shoulders with the strength of a man who lost everything. Remorse flooded Tibarn’s heart for he knew his story was the cause of so fiery reaction, and at the moment he couldn't care less about the food that fell to the ground or the clay bowl that broke.

"Reyson, calm yourself and eat, you are…"

"Tell me, Tibarn, how many children?"

The king held Reyson's gaze, incapable of looking away. Inside his golden colored eyes, burned flames as high as the ones that took everything away from him, leaving the king dazed and motionless. Everything the heron felt was excessive, too consuming, almost unbearable; and by looking at his eyes Tibarn could see the pain which was going to kill him eventually. A war only him could fight.

Against all odds, the hawk decided to intervene anyhow.

"Halt! Stop it now, Reyson." His calloused hands held tightly the heron's shivering fists. "Forget what I told you and eat. It's an order."

"I don't take orders from you, king of Phoenicis. Tell me! Tell me so I can slay a human for every child they hurt." Since Tibarn took Reyson as his ward, he was never called by king when in private situations, and this sudden shift enraged him almost as much as the trembling ire in the heron's voice worried him.

"You can't kill a single human in this state. Calm yourself, for I'll never tell you a single more battle tale if you keep this act!" The prince's eyes widened and he swore under his strenuous breath. The worry grew on the king's heart as he watched his protégé and friend lose strength in his grasp, breathing with difficulty. It was clear he was in pain while he shrunk into his mattress and held his chest with clenching fists. Maybe putting on a battle face and yelling wasn't the best way to appease a broken man, but Tibarn knew no better.

"Reyson?" The king called for his friend, quieter now, but earned no answer as the heron shrieved and gasped for air. He got closer, placing his hand on the forehead of the pained laguz, battling his own body over the impulse of hugging the prince as a mean to soothe his woe. Reyson had too hot of a fever and was soaked in sweat. He didn't know how to respond to such a situation, and pondered the possibility of calling a healer of sorts.

"Tibarn, no." The prince whispered, calmer at last, but exhausted as well. He was still a quivering mess and his eyes glistered more than usual in a tiresome weep. "Don't you dare calling anyone."

"So you were reading my mind." The king smiled gently, his hand going from the handsome prince's forehead to his cheekbone, caressing the undereye with his thumb. Reyson found no humour in it like he usually would do, the shame of his actions settling uncomfortably over his heart. As to retrieve the little composure he still had, the egret gently held the hawk's hand away from his face: "You are just too obvious. You may go now, forgive me for my…"

Tibarn gently shushed him, an act his peers would find uncharacteristic for his explosive personality. "Stop. It's fine… My brother." He sat back, once again crossing his legs. As the heat of their quarrel faded, both realized the mess: food and pieces of the clay bowl splatted over the ground. Before Reyson could try to apologise once more, the king spoke his mind: "I'll stay to assure you sleep, don't try to tell me otherwise."

The prince wasn't having it without a fight, as expected, both stubborn and prideful as just nobles knew how to be: "You need rest as well, look at you."

"I can sleep here." Stated the king, pushing the mess aside and laying on the cold earthy floor, like a young kid keen to prove his point. For a fact, it wasn't uncomfortable: the hawk tribe was used to a simple life and Tibarn himself never demanded much, for a king in his eyes was nothing more than a leader to be looked upon, not a man to be served.

"A king shouldn't lie on such a place." But Reyson disagreed, so Tibarn raised his voice a little, like the monarch he was:

"I don't care, and you shouldn't as well. Now... Rest." Since he was looking to the ceiling, he couldn't see the tired smile on his protégé lips, who as cheeky as expected from his lively personality, asked jokingly: "Was that an order?"

None spoke a word after.

Tibarn could swear upon his life that the moment Reyson started to breath steadily and entered the realm of dreams, he was too tired to go to his own room: however it would be an easily discovered lie. Though wounded, his mind was too stormed by the previous fight and for an hour or so he couldn't make his eyes close for the love of the Goddesses. So he quietly rolled to his side, far enough not to wake the heron prince up, but so close he could smell his fresh scent, the aroma of rain pouring on green grounds. While Tibarn himself smelled like sea salt and blood, Reyson was a creature of peace, blessed by a forest now physically dead, but alive in his aura.

Even months after the day Hell made itself part of Tellius, the emotional wounds created by that dark day were still open: as certainly as the sun rises east, the hawk king drowned himself in guilt daily. He wasn't a soothsayer, but he wished he could have reached Serene’s before the fire and the massacre, that he could be able to defend everything Reyson loved; but on the other hand, as they grew closer, a small part of him was glad to have heron prince by his side, a part he tried so hard to hide. He rather have a distant but happy Reyson than a broken one as a protégé, and as he watched his delicate face and beautiful golden hair under the faint light, he questioned if they would ever have met in a world of peace.

The white feathered prince and the brutish king, two kingdoms allied by race, but so culturally divided. Besides a diplomatic meeting once in a long while, would they ever eat as peers and have heartfelt conversations? Would he ever be allowed to witness so closely the beauty of a man that, no matter how tormented or hurt he was, still had the grace of a higher soul? Their experiences made them who they were, but was any of that worth the pain? Tibarn was happy to have Reyson by his side.

Oh, how he wished these emotions to go away!

Gently, he took a fine lock of golden hair and smelled it, finally giving up to tiredom, body too exhausted to keep feeding his stormed mind. There was something extremely comfortable in being so close to Reyson, a peace he rarely felt. The sole presence of herons must come with mood spells… Or maybe he was just trying to justify the warmth in his heart as something besides his chaotic feelings. Amidst his tribe, words of his lack of interest in women spread and many just pretended he was too worried about the wellbeing of his people, and so the monarch carried the heavy weight of being a warrior that wasn’t going to bear a single child to keep his legacy as a protector of the flying tribes. He could try, but hawks mate for life and he already had a pretense mate… One he wasn’t sure would ever accept his insane feelings. One no one would ever accept... Slowly the thoughts that only a wandering sleepy mind could think of faded and he fell into a deep sleep.

  
  


And as the sun rose the following morning, his arms were inexplicably around Reyson’s body. The first time they shared a bed, it was for sure an accident. He hoped for more accidents like that to come, with less fights however. The daydream stopped once he realized how tight his pants were, even though he was a teen no more, and unable to justify such gaffe, he quietly fled before the heron woke up — or so he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I just realized the work was marked as incomplete! Still learning how to use the site, just marked it as a one-shot bwahaha.


End file.
